The Summer of Riley (5 page)

I nodded, gulping back tears.

“William … I would never take any money from you. I don’t need money. All I need is my house and land here and my old horse to share it with me. If you got your dog back, we’d be living in fear. I can’t cope with that and neither can the Sultan. I know you love that dog, but, William, it can’t be. I will not change my mind on that.”

“They’re going to kill him in five days,” I said loudly.

“William, to kill an animal isn’t done easily by anybody. But it’s the law for a good reason.”

I stood up, knocking the brownie on the floor and accidentally squashing it into the rug. “You’re mean,” I said. “I thought you were my friend. It’s you who’s killing my dog and you don’t care. I’ll never speak to you ever again. Ever. Never.”

I let the door bang hard behind me.

“I’ll never speak to you again ever either, Sultan,” I shouted toward the barn. “And I’m going to save my dog without anybody’s help. I’ve got five days and I’m going to do it.”

D
ad stayed till I came home. Not that I cared. Not that I cared about anything except Riley.

“How did it go?” he asked.

I headed straight for the stairs. “Bad,” I said over my shoulder.

“You don’t want to talk about it?” Mom asked.

I was at the bend in the stairs.

“She wants him dead, that’s all.”

“I have to leave,” Dad called. “Do I get a hug good-bye?”

“Bye,” I said without turning around. He was the one who’d given Riley to the animal-control people. He was the one who’d told Mom, “William will just have to accept this.” Sure. Easy for him. Riley wasn’t his dog.

I threw myself on my bed, put on my earphones,
and played the music so loud that it hurt my head. But it didn’t drown out my thoughts.

Where was Riley now? Was he in a cage, all alone, wondering where I was, lonely for me the way I was lonely for him? Would we ever see each other again? I buried my face in my pillow that smelled doggy and musky. I’d never let Mom wash this pillowcase. Never.

I heard her banging on the door through the blast of music and I took off the earphones. “Yes?”

“You have an e-mail from Grace,” she said. “Why don’t you come down and read it?”

“Has Dad gone?”

“Yes. He says he’ll stay in touch.”

“Great!” I said sarcastically. “That’s because he gets in touch with us so often.”

There was silence outside the door. “William,” she said at last. “You may feel you can blame your father for some things. But this is not one of them.”

I rolled my eyes. I’d blame anybody I liked. I’d blame the whole darn world.

Our computer sits on its little table in one corner of the kitchen. There were two e-mail messages in the mailbox, one for Mom about the teachers’ get- together that they have in Laird’s Restaurant every
summer and the one to me from Grace.

“William,” it said. “I heard what happened to Riley and I’m really truly sorry. Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa, Mea Culpa. I’ll be over in the morning.” She signed it “Grace” with a “(Dis)” in parentheses in front of it. Disgrace. Well, she ought to feel disgraced after saying all those dumb things about my dog.

Three Mea Culpas are powerful stuff. One is of medium importance, two is stronger, and three is the ultimate and highest possible apology. Three means you are sorry to the ends of the earth, and because it’s so powerful, the other person is committed to forgive instantly. “I forgive,” I muttered, and I sat down and sent her an e-mail that said, “OK. Come early.”

Mom sat at the table, drinking a cup of tea; the pot with its tea cozy was beside her. It had to be pretty strong tea by now unless she’d made fresh.

She patted the chair next to her. “Stay for a minute, William, and let’s talk. Can you tell me what Peachie said?”

I told her in detail because I remembered every single horrible word. “And I’ll never speak to her again in my entire life,” I added.

“Of course you will,” Mom said. “Peachie is only protecting the horse she loves. You know he is almost

the only link to Woodie that she has left. And that makes him doubly precious. Think about all the good things she’s done for us.”

I didn’t want to think, so I began whistling.

Mom kept talking anyway. “Remember when we both had the flu at the very same time and Peachie came every day and brought us soup, and read to you, and even shampooed my hair for me? Peachie is our good, true friend. We have to. try to understand.”

I stopped whistling, but I didn’t say anything.

Mom sipped the last of the tea in her cup and turned the cup upside down on the saucer. She loves to read her tea leaves, which is why we always buy loose tea and not bags. She says reading tea leaves is baloney and we shouldn’t believe it; she certainly does not. But it’s fun. I think secretly she does believe it a little, and I do too.

She left the cup turned upside down and took my hand. I don’t mind her taking my hand as long as it is in private.

“First thing in the morning, I’m going to call that nice man at the pound where we got Riley. Do you remember him? His name is Stephen.”

“Yeah? How do you know his name?”

“He told me,” Mom said. “We’ve talked a couple
of times. So I’ll call him and ask him if he has any suggestions about what we should do.”

“Good. Grace said he liked you.”

“Well, I hope he did, because I’m counting on him to give us some good advice.”

I felt a quiver of hope. “I bet he will know what to do. And Riley’s right there, in his pound. We can ask Stephen if he’s okay. And maybe, since he likes you, he’ll go in and pet Riley and talk to him so he won’t be so lonely. And he could tell him we didn’t want him to have to go back and …” Tears were puddling behind my eyes. I pulled my hand from Mom’s and took an apple from the bowl on the table so I’d have it to chew on and the stupid tears would stop.

“To appeal, I think we’ll need a lawyer,” Mom said. “I’ll ask Stephen.”

“Yeah, a lawyer. Let’s get the best. I have money.”

“William.” Mom’s voice was very serious. “I have to get something straight with you. I’ll do anything I can to spare Riley’s life. I was fond of him, too, you know that.”

I chewed and chewed on my bite of apple. Something not good was coming! I could feel it in the air.

“But this appeal has to be only to save his life.
Nothing else. We can’t have him back here under any circumstances. Whatever you feel now about Peachie, she’s right. She would be living in her own home in fear that the dog would get to the Sultan again. That’s not fair. We can’t do that to her. But if we could stop them from putting Riley to sleep, and then maybe Stephen could find a good home for him someplace else, would that be enough?”

“No!” I shouted.

But then I began imagining.

Sometimes I think my imagination is too extreme. In my mind I saw Riley stretched out on a cold stone table, stiff and dead. I got up and put the rest of the apple into the wastebasket. I’d settle for anything but that.

“If we can just save his life,” I said, “I won’t try to get him back.”

“Good.” Mom smiled a shaky smile. “So tomorrow we’ll get started. We’ve only got five days, William.”

“I know,” I said. “I heard.”

“You did?”

“I was coming down the stairs.”

Mom was quiet, probably wondering what else I’d heard. All the time we’d been talking, she’d been turning her teacup round and round.

“Are you going to read the leaves?” I asked.

“Sure.”

I went over to stand behind her. She held the cup at arm’s length, looking into it.

At first, when you look, you see only a mess of black leaves, small as dead ants. But if you squinch your eyes and let go of your thoughts, you begin to see leaf pictures—a flower, a sailboat, or a tree. Right after Grandpa died, I saw a star. It made me feel better, as if Grandpa was telling me he was up there and okay. Once there was a perfect tea-leaf heart, and I thought that maybe meant Mom and Dad were going to get back together. But of course it didn’t mean that at all.

“See anything?” I asked. Now we were both peering into the cup.

“Look,” I said. “Isn’t that a bird? There, close to the handle.”

“It could be,” Mom said hesitantly.

“It is a bird, flying free.” I pointed, tracing in space the way its wings were spread, the way its head was lifted. “It’s a sign, Mom. Freedom, right? It would have been better if there’d been a dog running, but the leaves are tricky, right? A dog running would be too obvious.”

Mom looked up at me. “Honey, you know we see what we want to see. It’s, well, it’s kind of wishful thinking.” Then she smiled. “It could have been a bird.” She put the cup down and I hugged her as she sat, my face buried in her hair in back. She always smells of the sandalwood soap she buys in Lowes’ Drugstore. It’s her smell.

“It’s going to be all right,” I whispered.

I felt much better. Riley had me on his side and Mom and Grace and maybe the pound man, Stephen. Now he’d have a lawyer, the best that money could buy.

And then there was the bird. I wouldn’t let myself think that was wishful thinking. It was a sign and I believed it.

I
t rained all night. I listened to it patter on the back porch roof, the roof Riley had jumped from. Our fishpond would be a swamp of muddy water again, ugly and dirty. I lay there thinking how hard it was to let go of the pond and I understood that was because it was my last link to Grandpa, in the way the Sultan was Peachie’s last link to her dead husband. When things had been good with Riley, I’d thought I could start to let go. I had Riley to fill the empty space. But I didn’t have him any longer. I buried my face in my pillow.

Mr. Mysterious, the owl who lives in our old oak tree, called mournfully in the dark. Grace says he isn’t an owl, he’s a dove and she knows that for sure. We’ve never seen him, but I know he’s an owl, sitting high and dry in his tree, his big yellow eyes watching the rain.

I couldn’t sleep, and after a while I got up, found my school notebook that I hadn’t opened since school let out, and began making notes. There were lots of things we could do to help the lawyer we were going to get. I made a list and it looked good. “Yeah!” I said.

When I couldn’t think of another thing to add to it, 1 got back in bed. I felt pretty optimistic and fell asleep right away.

Grace came over after eight the next morning. I was eating waffles and honey. Mom popped two more into the toaster for Grace.

“I know I said mean things about Riley,” Grace said. “But I didn’t think they’d take him back to the pound. I didn’t think they’d kill him. I’m overcome with sorrow.” Grace talks especially fancy when she’s embarrassed, and she was embarrassed now.

“You triple Mea Culpa-ed,” I said. “Let’s forget about it.”

“Well, I want you to know I’m still sorry for the Sultan of Kaboor,” Grace said. “And I’m still his friend and Peachie’s, too.” She picked up three apples out of the bowl on the table and began juggling them, hopping around the kitchen. I have to say she’
a pretty good juggler. “I stopped in to see them….
Oops.”
She’d dropped one of the apples and interrupted herself to pick it up.

“We have to eat those, you know,” I reminded her.

“I stopped in to see them on the way here.”

I shrugged. “I don’t care. You can like them if you want. I don’t have to.”

I took the spoon out of the honey jar and licked it, and Mom said, “William!” and Grace said, “How gross! Don’t put it back in. I don’t want your cooties.” Things were back to normal. Sort of.

“So what are we going to do?” Grace asked.

“Well, Mom’s going to call Stephen …”

“Right,” Mom said. “It’s eight thirty. I think I should call now.” She went to the phone.

“Who’s Stephen?” Grace whispered.

“The pound man,” I whispered back, and Grace batted her eyelashes. “I told you,” she mouthed.

We listened as Mom reached Stephen and explained what had happened with Riley. “Oh, you found out already,” she said. Then there was just a bunch of yeses and “I understand’s.” “I’d really appreciate that,” she said at last.

Grace and I crowded around her to see what she was writing down. “Joel Bell,” she wrote. Under it
she printed a phone number. “Thank you so much, Stephen. You’ve really helped.”

He was talking again and she was listening. She gave a little giggle. Grace and I stared at each other. Mom does not usually make that kind of silly sound.

“No, I don’t think that at all,” she said. “And I would like to see you again. But right now isn’t a good time. After all this is settled …” She paused and then said, “I definitely will tell him. You’ve been really nice, Stephen.”

Grace put her hand over her heart and rolled her eyes and made kissing sounds. Fortunately, all of that was behind Mom’s back. When she hung up the phone, we were sitting all serious at the table.

“What did he say, Mom?” I asked. I noticed how pink her cheeks were. I wasn’t sure how I felt about the way she looked and the way she’d giggled. If Mom got interested in somebody else, then there’d never be a chance of her and Dad getting together again—of us being a family. Of course, this one phone call didn’t mean they were going to start dating. And then, I wasn’t feeling too great about Dad anyway. And there was old Phoebe.

“Did he ask you out, Mrs. Halston?” Grace asked, all wide eyed and innocent.

“Oh, well …” Mom said vaguely, but she pinked even more.

I helped her out. “What was that name you wrote down?”

She put the paper down on the table. “Joel Bell. He’s a lawyer. Stephen says he’s good and he doesn’t charge killer rates. Plus, he put in an appeal for another dog, kind of like Riley’s case, a couple years ago, so he has some experience.” She went on telling us things—things Stephen thought. Stephen, Stephen. What was this with saying his name so much?

“What about the other dog a couple of years ago? Did he get him off?” I asked.

“Unfortunately, no.” Mom sat down. “But that was different. The dog had bitten two people and there was some evidence that it had killed sheep.”